


Misconceptions

by orphan_account



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Bad Parenting, Growing Up, Hurt Mo Guan Shan, M/M, Moving Away, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Reuniting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 07:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: If Mo Guan Shan's dad wasn't in prison for the reason he was and He Tian didn't get the memo that being an owner means a lot more than training your pet.





	1. One day

He wasn't always like this.

He wasn't sure why people were so quick to assume he was always like this, always angry, always using the most embarrassing insults to try and protect his inner core. No, he wasn't always angry. 

It's not like he was born screaming out of his mother's womb- 

In fact, he came out silent. Completely silent. 

Strange how things like that happen, isn't it? Or, like this should he have said.

His father on one side of the glass and him on the other.

It was a completely bizarre turn of events, although, completely expected too. He'd been nervous when his mother first came up to him, in her long knee-length skirt and a cross around her neck, eyes watering deeply from the inward depths of both grief and regret. A regret of what? He couldn't say- What would be the point in dredging up forgotten memories? A canvass of red and purple and fire and anguish? 

None, none at all. 

His father's eyes hadn't changed an ounce, he had to suppose that was the most agonising part of the whole ideal. They were still a rusted gold, a dark tempest swirling near the pupil; hiding an unexploded mine which was buried deep in his mind. 

Just one step, on tiptoe and BOOM! 

Yet, the terror didn't come this time, even as he raised the black, sweat-ridden phone to his ear, his mother struggling to hold in her tears of weakness behind him. Were the tears for him or his father? Or for their interaction? Or for the inability of him escaping and grasping his grubby hands like a noose around Mo's pale throat?

Thank god for the thick sheet of plastic. 

"Dad..." 

His voice came out as a thick whisper, not as strong as he'd wished but not weak enough to the point where his father could exert the slight tremble over him. However, even as he thought so, the satisfied smirk which laced his features was more enough for Mo to tightly grip his ripped jeans in his palm, swallowing with a grimace. 

"You've grown so big my boy."

Nausea rose up from his knees at the phrase, at the tremor of excitement which he knew so well that flickered through his dad's smouldering eyes. There was always a certain sickening tick there, like a clock going on and on and on and on, always at the back of his head and grazing his heart with every breath he took at even the remembrance of it. 

His lungs expanded widely, and he exhaled deeply out of his nose, wishing himself to remain calm. 

"I've been taking good care of mom," he responded quietly, remaining eye-contact with a lick of his chapped lips. 

"You're such a good boy." 

That same whisper, that same glance- 

He looked at his mom, saw her rigid stance as she looked away, and realised that he was alone in this. The security guard was off watching some other guest, paying their conversation no mind despite the obvious air of awkwardness that leaked out of his stiff stance. 

Once again, he was alone, and he felt his father's snicker ripple against the phone, followed by the revolting song of saliva rubbing against the dimples. In order to avoid listening to any more than he had to, the disgust burning behind his eyes, he lowered the phone from his ear, watching as his father dipped his head. 

A satisfied grin ingrained into his features, peeling back his lips. 

"I have been working hard, yes. I even got a job."

A crack smashed through his voice at the end, and that was when his father's smug expression turned into one of mocking, repulsion, a sneer of cold command pulling his lips to his ear as he laughed hysterically. Slamming his hands on the other side of the plastic pane, Mo jumped at the sudden explosion and his dad pressed his face right up the plastic, eyes writhing with insanity in his face. 

"YOU?! A JOB?!" 

Shrinking in his chair, he responded quietly, previous courage smashed into pieces on the floor beside his worn down trainers. 

"Yes, Dad."

"Colour me outside the lines," his father responded after the guards sent him a warning glance, leaning back in his chair. His body language spoke of exasperation in the orange suit and he leaned back, scarred knuckles brushing against his eyes. That was before he slowly dropped with a raising of his eyebrows and an audible swallow. 

There was a palpable silence before he spoke again. This symphony one of the direst cruelty. 

"So, what? Do you sell your ass or something? That's the only thing you've got going for you." 

Then, the man behind the plastic grins at him once again. His father, his dad, his skeleton in the closet. 

It's not the same grin he has for his mother, it's a specific kind of grin that causes goosebumps to rise to attention on Mo's skin as he brushes his too-long fingers across the glass. 

"Tell me, are they good? Better than me? Bet you wiggle your ass like a little slut, don't you." 

His back began to ache from the pressure he was exerting on the plastic chair, and his dad's speech played into double-entendres. His calculative eyes studied his expression, then travelled down to his exposing v-neck before lingering on the earing in his ear, then going back to his face. 

Then there was another smirk, this one more vicious than the last, like a cat who lapped milk under his greasy black bangs- 

Kinda like He Tian's when he first met him, only with far more teeth and a stomach-cramping cackle from behind chapped teeth. 

His father crouched awkwardly, imitating a tarantula's scuttle, draining Mo of any further responses to his words. The sky that purloined over him would be smothered with darkening clouds, hiding away any hope of sky candlelight. 

However, before he could continue and separate those thin lips- 

"Time to go Mo," his mother whispered with a hushed voice, draping a lock of her soft hair over her ear as her ex-husband wiggled his fingers at her, blowing a kiss. 

"Yeah, okay," he replied, dropping the phone back onto the stand with one last look in his father's direction, who only pointed at his earing before cackling again with a mouthing of the words:

 _"Nice to see you again Mo."_  

* * *

 

.

.

.

.

.

"Any of you guys seen my puppy?"


	2. One day

Mo needed a win, any win would do. 

He was taking a constant beating every day, gaining another bruise, another scrape, another grapple, scrambling desperately for some earnest sense of self-success and gaining nothing in its entire fucking entirety. Nothing. 

Sure, he had got a job, but was that by himself? No, it bloody wasn't. 

And his Dad yesterday-

He took a sip of his drink, pushing the thought away. 

He was always, always, losing. In fact, he was losing so much that he couldn't even remember what he had come outside to do, so was just sat on the crates with a can of beer on some crates. 

How's that for sad? 

Releasing a sigh, his eyes bore into the floor, eyebrows scrunched up in frustration. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he do anything right? Why couldn't he just fucking smile and be normal instead of repetitively angry? 

It was like it boiled from his feet into his knees whenever people so much as glanced in his direction- Like- 

Like he was some kind of rotten creature. 

Sighing again, his teeth pushed down deeply onto his lip, his tracksuit bottoms tearing from the splinters on the crates, and he ran a hand through his short hair, letting his hand flop to the ground. 

How did he even get in this state? 

It was simply pathetic. 

There was a vibration from his pocket, but he didn't pick up. 

Not now. 

It was like there was a strange, light, airiness on his chest, not heavy, nor suffocating, but it was just like a warm air is wrapping itself around his ribs. It was pretty easy to tell that it was there, what, with the way it sent the back of his head spinning and stopped him from being able to open his eyes wide with young, natured excitement.

He couldn't tell what it was. 

That's part of the problem. Maybe it was boredom, a desire for some excitement. However, some part of him felt as though this was something far, far, more dangerous.

It was like standing on a tightrope, his toes curling around the wire, desperately trying to cling on whilst the audience roared and threw him off balance, causing him to tremble. It was so intense in fact, that he believed it was no wonder many lost their minds, with the stillness in his mind yet complete chaos which caused his bones to grate together in an unsatisfactory amount of pain.

What was more strange, however, is that he didn't think he was losing his mind, nor did he think he was crazy. In a poetic phrase, it was like he was slowly walking into the ocean, a comfortable feeling entrapping his body, yet invasive at the same time. Of course, he didn't feel that feeling all of the time, and it was not something which concerned him, as he'd grown quite familiar with it, but he just figured he'd try and place it into words so he could try and place it myself.

He was just stuck, standing still in the middle of the tightrope, the wire growing thinner between his sore toes as he placed his arms out wide, everyone below screaming as water filled up the circus tent, a spiral of red and white above him.  

He couldn't believe that he actually believed the bullshit his teachers told him in school when they even bothered to speak to him that is. "The world is a great place," and, "You could do anything." 

They both knew that wasn't the case at all. Reputation was key in their country, and Mo's families weren't the best, so he had been walking on a wire for the majority of his life. He had been trying not to fall yet was still petrified at every corner of a sky-scraper, waiting for the time he forgot to stick his arms out to catch himself in his deepest, darkest fall where the air would suffocate his lungs- 

Not like that mattered much anymore. 

That same anger built up, and upon instinct, he crushed the can in his hand, hatred growing with every crease formed in the can's once, perfect surroundings. Cylinder and neat, built with a purpose to hold what often give people such a sweet release. 

Carelessly, he flung away the can without so much of a second thought, not wanting to dwell too much into that thought, into any thoughts really. 

Being awake, to him, was such a chore, so tiring, a neverending paradox of a living nightmare- 

Every day felt like the worse day of his life.

He wasn't unaware that a group were making their way towards him, a grotesque smile on their features. He just decided to stay still, allowing the energy to thrum down his legs as he put on his signature scowl, knowing who exactly it was. Numbness pricked his arms, a cold air tenderly violated his cheeks and he glanced up at the looming shadow in front of him when they had arrived. 

An audible swallow caused his apple's-adam to bob subconsciously. There was a lot more than he was originally anticipating. 

Midnight clouds accumulated over the glossy moon, adding a sense of trepidation as the fat man licked his cracked lips. 

Mo's eye twitched. 

"I was already in a bad mood, but now I have to see you scum," the man sneered, puffing out a swirling tempest of smoke which tasted bitter on Mo's tongue. 

If Mo was disgusting, then these guys were just completely, and utterly, repulsive. However, then again, who was Mo to decide who was worthless and who was not? 

Silently, he didn't offer them a reply, remaining sat down. Apparently, they didn't like that all the much, especially the ringleader as he spat on his jacket, thin lips curling like bitter cud had been washed through his teeth.

Leaning forward, his face just centimetres away from Mo's own, the stench of vomit burned his nostrils, almost inducing him to vomit had it not been for the raw anger making his adrenalin pulse. 

Oh no. 

His knuckles were white from clenching too hard, the pure bone coming to life, nearly breaking the surface of his skin as he gritted his teeth, grinding them straight back into his gums. There was a thick animosity in the air, a dancer- Like burning, slicing, potent acid, warning none to come close as those lips brushed against the crevasse of his ear piercing- 

_"Tell your mum that if she can't make money, she could just take customers. Clocks are ticking."_

Then, like the tender flip of a switch delicately touched- 

He snapped. 

* * *

More and more hands roughly grabbed his jacket and with the flurry of images cascading through his mind and a well-placed knee against the centre of his ribs, he found himself weakening, eyes straining animalistically as he scrapped his nails into the concrete, desperate to get back to that flab and tear it out with his teeth- 

He wasn't done _choking_ him yet- 

There was a haggard cough, a wheeze, a gargle of froth and vomit- 

And he frowned in extreme disappointment, the pain in his back and stomach making themselves pronounced as he was lifted into a standing position, feebly trying to fight back. 

_He was always losing._

_"THE LITTLE SHIT ALMOST KILLED HIM!"_

_"FUCKING RAT!"_

A crushing, agonising pain bloomed like a lily in his chest as he keeled over from the force of a pointed kick aimed at his stomach, saliva slobbering from his mouth. His eyebrows scrunched and his temple throbbed painfully against his head as it pounded mercilessly. 

"AGH! FUCKING-"

Again, again- 

His stomach ached, his arms lost tension and his legs began to weaken, but then he dropped to the ground and grabbed the attackers leg, bruised and winded, yanking him to the ground with a press of his heel into his nose, crushing it into grotesquerie-

Then he quickly tried to walk away from the member of the fight, falling into something solid. The strength was completely sucked from his body as the men surrounded their crippled boss quickly, the purple still lingering in his cheeks whilst heavy breaths hovered from his lips. 

Darkness clouded the side of his vision, the strength left his knees. Fingers turning cold, mind growing heavy and filling with static, he could feel his entire body began to freeze up, lungs aching with both the desire to breathe and return back to their original rhythm.

Thump, thump, thump, thump-

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Hurt, it hurt his ears-

Pain, a sharp sensation in his knees, but he couldn't see it because of the blurred sight of the concrete ground in front of him. His tear-ducts were stinging, aching-

And then he remembered vaguely what he fell against as sturdy hands wrapped themselves around his body. 

The figure fluctuated in it's distinctiveness, but even through the mist collecting in his eyes and the static it in his ears- 

He could make out that figure.

He Tian- 

_"Who gave you guys the guts? To raise trouble on my turf?"_

But, his eyes weren't focused on Mo Guan Shan, they were focused on the on-coming gang coming their way, and they were terrifying. 

_"Break one leg on each."_

Mo had seen him in this way only once before, but now, witnessing it in such close proximity, his midnight hair long like a devil of sin, his blood drained from his face and his heart hammered erratically. He was always afraid of He Tian, had been for a very long time, and he was even more deathly afraid of his icy anger that seemed penetrated the men before them like the firing of a rifle in a long range. 

It coated him thickly, despite the sweat which Mo could feel through his shirt and Mo knew it was pointless to try and reach him now as his words would bounce off as good as the hard rain of a new car bumper, clashing harshly with the concrete afterwards. 

Then he was off- Launching viciously into the pool as Mo caught himself on the wall, attempting the regain his strength whilst spitting out a pool of blood. 

_He was so fucking useless._

* * *

"Little Mo... I'll make a path and you run." 

His stance went rigid, and he turned quickly when He Tian walked in front of him, watching as the sweat dripped down the back of his neck-

"Idiot!" He gasped loudly, licking the blood from his teeth as He Tian turned at the noise, allowing Mo Guan Shan to grab his hand just before a metal bat caved his head in, beginning to drag the man in the opposite direction from the fight with a crippled leg and a mind dizzy with blood loss- 

"You don't _have_ to fight HE Tian."

* * *

 

.

.

.

.

.

They didn't make it to He Tian's house till an hour later, and Mo Guan Shan didn't even make it to the door before collapsing on the porch- 

Finally. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, let me know if it's going too quickly.


End file.
